


Cor Cordium - Heart of Hearts

by ThroneofMist (orphan_account)



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Heartbreak, Height Differences, How Do I Tag, Italy, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, elio is one grumpy boy, idk - Freeform, ill tag later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-13 13:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15365364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ThroneofMist
Summary: It's a year after the summer of 1983, and Oliver has returned to Crema. Elio is desperately trying to mend his fractured heart with another's but he can't ignore Oliver forever. But he can try.Oliver is begging forgiveness but Elio doesn't know if he can give it. He doesn't know if he even wants to.Even if Elio drops his walls and lets Oliver in, is there any point? Or will it just be a harsh, heartbreaking cycle, a repeat of the previous year?Is it worth breaking his heart again?





	1. "He's Not Here,"

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy x

 

_The waves crash against the sand before they slowly pull back out. Then they come in again. Then out._

_Like a game._

_Like toying a mouse over a cat._

_Giving, then snatching it back almost instantly._

_I bring my knees up against my chest and hug my arms around them, watching the sea._

_My music lies abandoned next to me on the rock I'm perched on. I came down here to go swimming, not to just sit here. Not to sit on a rock, bathing in...what am I bathing in? Self-pity? Depression? Regret? Longing? No. I'm surrounded by those things constantly and never. I've learned to ignore them. Well, more like, elected to ignore them. It just makes everything easier._

_It's easier to ignore, than to face, than to look it in the eye. It's easier to pretend than to admit. It's easier to lie. Even if I'm lying to myself._

_I can't believe he's back. I don't think I want to believe it._

_I don't know what I want._

OLIVER

I hadn't really watched the rolling green fields, or the blue sky when Anchise had driven me. I regret it now, especially as we pull up to the villa. My heart instantly clenches, and the butterflies that have been in my stomach for the past two days start flapping their wings. Anchise stops the car and smiles at me. I try to smile back, but I'm pretty sure it comes out as a grimace. He gets out of the car before me, leaving me to sit and try my very best not to throw up. 

I clench my jaw and sigh, running my hands through my hair. Drumming my fingers on my knee, I bite the inside of my cheek, trying desperately to distract myself from...from myself. I let myself look at the building, at the bricks that saw everything that happened last year. Everything's exactly the same. Except it's not. Nothing's the same. 

All of the blue shutters are open, the white silk curtains flowing in the slight wind. I look up, look up at his bedroom, at our bedroom, but he's not there. Not like he was when I arrived last year. He's not watching from the window. I shake my head at myself. Of course he's not. Had I really been expecting anything different? I'm not sure if I want to know the answer to that.

When I see Professor Perlman appear in the threshold, waving and displaying a broad, welcoming smile that I know I don't deserve, I smile back and get out of the car. 

Anchise is holding my bags, and I try and take them out of his hands but he just shakes his head. "Li prenderò io," he says, _I will take them_ , before he starts to walk inside, a bag in each hand. I watch him pass Professor Perlman, who smiles at him and says something in Italian that I don't catch, before I make my own way up the gravel path, desperately plastering a grin on my face. 

"Pro!" I exclaim as he wraps me in a hug; it feels familiar, warm. It feels like coming home. "Now, now. My name is Samuel, so that is what I insist you call me."

"Of course, _Samuel_ ," I nod as he smiles and claps his hands. 

He turns behind me and scans the surroundings, obviously looking for someone. My heart leaps. Maybe he's looking for- "Where is my wife?" My throat bobs and I pray my face isn't a cast of disappointment. "She was right behind me, I swear."

As if she can hear us, Annella runs out of the doorway, an apron around her waist, her face smudged with what looks like flour. Samuel smiles from next to me as we watch Annella half walk, half run over to us. " _La muvi star!"_ She exclaims as she walks over, arms spread out.

"Mrs P!" I smile, before she pulls me into a hug aswell, wrapping her arms around me and ruffling my hair, even if she has to stand on her toes to reach. She smells the same; apricots, peaches, cigarettes and the salt of the sea. 

" _Oliver_ ," she says softly, lightly, as if my name hasn't been spoken in this place for a long time. I imagine it hasn't. 

There's a pause, a hesitation. And it's not awkward, but it's not companionable either. We all know what we're all thinking. We're all thinking the same thing. But none of us can bare to voice it. 

"Come," The professor says, clapping me on the back, a welcoming gesture. "Come. We must get you settled. I trust your journey was exhausting?"

I grin as they lead me inside. "As ever." When I step over that threshold, my shoes making sound against the white tiles, it's as if time stops. No, it's as if time reverses, and suddenly I'm one year ago. I glance up at the stairs, but no one's there. There's not a boy lingering on the landing, arm dangled over the railing, awkward grin shining down at me.

The villa was the opposite of silent. I don't think there had ever been a silent moment last year. And of course, it's not silent now; there's the chirping of the birds; the shutters banging softly against the walls; pots and pans are being bashed in the kitchen; quiet but passionate arguing can be heard from outside, no doubt from one of the Perlman's many guests; the rustling of the fruit trees; and the beating of my extremely loud heart.

They lead me into the library and I follow silently, only just realising I've barely said a word. The déjà vu is almost too much for me to handle, especially since we've basically just re-enacted last year's welcoming. I turn to the doorway, half hoping, half dreading for him to appear; red polo shirt, collar slightly twisted, barefoot, curly hair a mess. I must look tragic and helpless, staring at the doorway, face painted in longing and hope because Samuel takes pity on me.

"He's not here."

I know who he's talking about. Of course I know who he's talking about. He's talking about the person that won't let me think. Won't let me sleep. The person that had made me feel infinite. The only person I could call by my own name. _Oliver_.

"Oh," I say, scratching the back of my neck. I don't know how I'm meant to react. I know how I want to react. To collapse to the floor and let my heart tear out from my chest. To go to his room, to his balcony and just wait for him to show up. Wait for him and touch him. Wait for him and hold him. Feel his skin against mine.

But I can't do that in front of his parents. 

Actually, I'm just now realising that I don't know the etiquette for talking to the guy you slept with last summer then left to only call him six months later and tel him you're engaged but you still remember everything's parents.

There's so many questions that flood me. So many questions that I need to know the answer to, but I don't dare ask. One of my questions, however, is answered for me when Annella speaks. "He knows you're here, Oliver," she says in a kind tone. "We told him this morning. Although, you are early. We expected you tomorrow. But we..we felt he needed to know. It wasn't fair to him to not tell him. However, maybe we should've taken your feelings into account and-"

I shake my head, "No, of course not. He's your son. And I-I just-maybe-felt like..." I keep cutting myself off, so much to say ending up with nothing to say. I just run a tired had through my hair and trail off, deciding to stay silent.

"He left when we told him. He just needs to clear his head," Michael explains. "He went out with some friends, I believe." 

I just nod, not knowing what they expect me to say. "Look, Oliver," Samuel says, "We know that you and him need to discuss...everything, or at least, you both might want to. But, I'm just telling you, he has changed. Not necessarily for worse, but nor for better either. He is still himself, just buried deeper. But we want you to know that this is your business...and his of course...and your's alone."

I'm pretty sure I get the gist of what they're saying. I nod again and try my best to stay calm and collected. "Your room is ready for you," Annella says, a smile on her face. 

"My room?" I ask tentatively.

Samuel answers with a knowing smile. "His room."

I shake my head and take an instinctive step back. "No, I couldn't possibly. I wouldn't want to-" But Annella cuts me off by waving her hand.

"No arguing, Oliver!" she says, kindly, but with a hint of warning. "Go, go. He has been sleeping in the other room anyway," she says as she pushes me lightly into the corridor. I stumble and nearly fall. Maybe if I fell I would just stay there, stay on the floor until he returned. I try and ignore what it means that he's been sleeping in the other room and just nod, because it seems like that's all I can do anymore. 

Annella and Samuel smile kindly at me before Annella slowly shuts the door, the lock clicking lightly. I let myself sigh, my shoulders falling, before I look up at the stairs. I don't know if I can bring myself to walk up them. 

Each step I take feels heavier than the last. My hand absently falls onto the banister, trailing behind me as I walk. When I reach the landing, I don't know if it's been hours or minutes. My jaw clenches when I see my bags outside the door of the room I'd had last summer. His room.

I exhale and grit my teeth, determined to sleep when I hesitate in front of the room he's been staying in according to Annella. My hand drifts towards the handle, even as my head is screaming at me. Turn around. _Turn around_!

Thankfully, Mafalda walks out of his room, her face a cast of shock and joy when her eyes meet mine. " _Uliva_!" She exclaims, patting my shoulder before she arches an eyebrow at me. "Your room is there," she tells me pointing to the other door. My mouth falls open and I stumble to find words. He never told me if Mafalda knew, but I'm pretty sure she suspects. 

"Yeah, I know, I just-"

"That one," she cuts me off, pulling his door tightly shut behind her before she walks off, eyeing me suspiciously. I sigh and turn on my feet, walking over to my room, which really, is still his room. My heart pangs when I push open the door. It may be my room, but his presence is still everywhere. It's embedded in the very foundations of the villa. Of Cerma. of the whole of Italy. Of me.

Stray sheets of music litter the desk, the crinkled pages fluttering in the wind. His books lie on the floor, some open, with pages marked, some closed. Some of his clothes are hanging in the open closet, his shorts and shirts folded neatly. 

I collapse onto the bed, all of this too much. Too much. 

I don't let myself think of him as I drift to sleep, my mind strangely clear. I miss dinner that night. No one wakes me.


	2. "Perfetto."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tu aurais du revenir," 
> 
> "Je connais,"
> 
>  
> 
> "You should've come back,"
> 
> "I know,"

OLIVER

I woke up at around three in the morning. It was only when I'd been lying, silent in the bed for a while, had I realised that I was listening. Listening for the door next to mine to open and then shut softly. Listening for the bath to run or for the toilet to flush - I'd left the bathroom door ajar, in a feeble attempt at him noticing me. Waiting to hear him. Waiting for him.

But it never came. The door never opened, it remained shut. The bath never ran and his soft footsteps never sounded on the bathroom tiles. The bathroom door was left open, until the wind from my open window pushed it shut. He never came. I couldn't help but worry slightly; was he okay? Why hadn't he come home? I started imagining the worst possible explanations. 

Now, sitting here and imagining him either hurt, or with someone else instead of me. It hurts. It shouldn't. I have no right for it to hurt. I don't have any rights when it comes to him. I know that. 

I stand up, the floorboards cold under my bare feet. I look back at the empty bed, well the two singles bed that Mafalda must've pushed together. The sheets are strewn over the bed and I don't have the heart to fix the sheets, even though I know I'm not going back to sleep in that bed anytime soon. I walk over to the adjoining balcony and lean against the railing, my arm dangling over. 

I sigh and close my eyes, bathing in the cold, crisp, Italian night air. I let myself ignore everything; forget about him and last summer and my engagement, and I just stand on the balcony, eyes closed and breathing regular. I get about six minutes of peace, when a giggling laugh accompanied with a broad laugh made me open my eyes. I squint in the dark, but I can only make out two blurry figures standing under the peach trees. They're standing close together, extremely close together, and the laughing stops for a moment, undoubtedly to do something else with their mouths. 

It might be him. It might not be. I hope it's not. But the sinking feeling in my stomach makes me feel like it might be. I should probably move, should probably go back inside, but I don't. I stay there, because at least, is that is him; if that is him kissing someone else, at least he's safe.

I watch as the couple pull apart and start laughing again. One of them, the smaller one, makes to go further into the trees, further away from me. The other one looks like they're going to follow, when they seem to turn, their head aimed up at me. I can't see who it is, but in my heart I know.

It's him.

I can't see his soft, brown curls. I can't see his pale skin, or his pointed nose or red lips. I can't see what he's wearing, or if he's barefoot. I can't see his Star of David. I can't see him.

But I know it's him.

He stays, looking up at me, and I know he can probably see me, because the light from inside, from _his_ nightlight, is shining on me. He stays, and doesn't move, and time stand still because he does and I want nothing more than to run down to him, to wrap my arms around him and hold him, to kiss him and feel him and taste him like I once did. But I don't. Of course I don't.

I stand.

And he stands.

Until the other person appears once more and, giggling, drags him into the forest.

I stay there. I stay standing there until I stumble back inside and shut the balcony door, closing my eyes. I turn and lean against the door before I slide down it and end up on the floor, knees tucked close to my chest. I stare down at my empty ring finger.

Jessica.

Jess had been my fiancee. I hadn't spoken her name here last summer, but I knew I was going to have to this time. 

"Why are we doing this, Oliver?" She'd asked the last time I'd seen her. "What is the point in all of this?"

I hadn't known what to say. Because I hadn't known. I hadn't known what we were doing. The only thing I'd known was what we were doing was pointless. Because we both knew I didn't love her. I wasn't entirely sure she loved me either. I'd never told her about last summer. Maybe I should've. Maybe I owed it to her. 

But I had never been able to bring myself to. Not because I didn't want to hurt Jess - I know that sounds shit, because it is - but because I hadn't wanted to share that summer with anyone. Because I'd thought that if I'd told Jess then that summer wouldn't have been mine anymore. 

"I don't know," I'd answered honestly. Jess had taken one look at me and walked out. She hadn't looked at me with tears in her eyes or anger painting her face, she'd just shaken her head lightly and walked out. I'd only seen her once after that, just to confirm that everything was done. It was. Everything was done. And I wasn't sad about it. I wasn't angry about it. I was kind of happy about it. In a way, by ending their engagement, Jessica had set me free. Set my heart free to seek out the person it truly belonged to.

I was free from my engagement. But I wasn't free to be with who I really wanted.

I don't know if I ever will be.

 

\-----------

 

As I walk down the stairs, the morning light streaming in from the bay windows, I feel calm. Which is strange as I got practically no sleep last night. "Mornin'," I say to Mafalda as I pass her on my way outside. She smiles at me and shakes her head before she ruffles my hair, still wet from the bath I had earlier. 

"Make sure you eat," she says. "Too skinny." I promise her I will before she nods and walks off, empty jug and plates in her hand. While I walk through the villa, I hesitate in front of a mirror. I'm not skinny, as Mafalda had bluntly put it, but I am leaner than I had been last summer. My face looks gaunt aswell, and I have slight bags under my eyes. I prod them and sigh before I rake my hands through my hair. I look away, continuing towards the table outside, unable to look at myself anymore.

Annella and Samuel are sitting there, their place settings and the food untouched, as if they're waiting for someone. I don't know if they're waiting for me or for him. They don't see me approaching at first, and I accidentally hear part of conversation. They're speaking english, and part of me wishes they weren't, so I didn't have to understand.

"He didn't come home last night, Sammy."

"He will be with Marzia, _Cara Mia_. Or Liliana."

"But he's still not home. He should be home."

"He is an adult, we must respect him and his wishes."

"What if he-"

"He's fine, _mio caro_."

I interrupt their conversation, unable to bare it anymore. "Mornin' Pro. Mrs P," I smile as I slip into my old seat. I try and ignore that the table is set for four, not three. I also ignore the empty seat opposite me.

"Ah, Oliver," Samuel says, smiling broadly. Annella smiles aswell, but it's forced and her lips are tight with worry, no doubt for her son. "I trust you slept well?"

"Of course," I lie. "Who wouldn't in a place like this." 

"I'm glad," he says as he starts to butter his toast. I smile when I look down and see the egg in it's cup next to my plate, already opened, and a glass of apricot juice. I want to eat it, I really do, but I can't bring myself to. Because he's not here. Because he wasn't here last night. 

I manage to stumble through breakfast, talking and laughing with Samuel. We manage to avoid mentioning him, and we manage to evade the topic of my engagement. Well, past-engagement. I know they noticed the absence of the ring on my finger the minute they lay eyes on me, they're too smart not to. I'd told Samuel that my engagement had ended when he'd called and asked if I would like to return to Cerma for the summer, since his intern had suddenly cancelled last minute. I still don't know if they've told him. 

As breakfast goes on, as the seconds drip by, Annella's smile fades and her hands start fidgeting. Samuel doesn't say anything about it, but he does slip his hand into hers and squeezes with a warm smile on his face. When we have all finished eating, Mafalda appears to take away our plates, gripping my shoulder when she sees the empty glass and egg shell. " _Troppo magro,"_ Shesays to Annella, who shakes her head.

" _No_ ," Annella responds, smiling at me. " _Perfetto_." I know enough Italian to understand what that means. I smile back at Annella and I'm about to thank her when Mafalda speaks.

"No, no," She shakes her head as she gathers the food we didn't eat, which compared to last year is quite a lot. " _Troppo macro, trope macro_." Then she speaks in rapid Italian that I do not understand, but it makes Annella laugh. She turns to me when Mafalda leaves.

"She's made it her mission this summer to get you back to clobbering weight," she tells me, a mischievous smile on her face.

"I'll do whatever Mafalda tell me to," I shrug. "I'm too scared of her not to." Annella and Samuel both laugh and we all stand up, walking inside together. "Do you need my help today, Pro?" I ask, because I desperately hope he says yes. Because I don't know what I'm meant to do with myself without him here. Samuel looks like he's going to say no, and tell me I'm free to do whatever I wish but he must see the desperate look on my face because he nods.

"Yes actually, if you wouldn't mind, there are some works I would like to catalogue and make note of in the library. If you wouldn't mind, I would love your help, Oliver." I smile gratefully and nod. Annella kisses us both on the cheek before she announces that her sisters are coming over today and that I must bother them at least once. She wants them to meet me again. So I can show you off, she says, before she kisses her husband again and catches Mafalda in the hall, helping her take the plates to the kitchen.

It's around lunchtime, and we're halfway through noting the books when we hear the front door open. I hear soft footsteps, as if they're trying to sneak in but then I hear Annella speaking angry, loud, rapid french. Then I hear him shout back. I would know his voice anywhere. I would be able to hear him whispering under a massive crowd. I would be able to hear him anytime, anywhere, no matter what language he was speaking. His voice makes my heart clench.

" _Où étiez-vous_?" Annella shouts, in her anger either forgetting or not caring that there are guests in the house. _Where have you been?_

" _Le dehors_!" Is the curt one worded answer. _Out!_

" _Avec_?" Annella asks. _With?_

I look down at Samuel, who's sitting in his seat, flicking through the pages of his book. He must feel my gaze because he looks up and smiles softly. "Take your time," Samuel says before looking back down at his book.

" _Pourquoi es-tu inquiet?_ " His voice asks, and it makes my heart pang and my throat close up. _Why do you care?_  When Annella doesn't respond, he sighs and says, "Liliana, _et d'autres_." _Liliana, and others._

 _"Tu aurais du revenir,"_ She says softly.  _You should've come back._ I'm expecting a retort or more arguing but he just sighs and I can practically see him shaking his head, dark curls falling in his face. 

" _Je connais_ ," He whispers. _I know_.

I don't think I can take this. I don't think I can stand here, knowing he's out there. Knowing he's close. When I can literally hear him. 

I take a step forward and Samuel looks up at me, smiling. Then I start to doubt myself. Maybe I _should_ just stay here. Maybe it's better if I just work. The whole summer. If the only thing I am to him is civil. Like I probably should've been last summer. Maybe this is a way to redeem myself. But then again, I didn't really do anything wrong last summer. But maybe I messed him up. Maybe I destroyed him. Maybe I corrupted him.

As if Samuel can see the doubt start to form in my face, he stands up, and lightly places the book down onto the coffee table before walking over to the door. He opens it, and glances at me before he gestures with his head, a small side smile on his lips. I don't smile back, mainly because I don't think I'm breathing. But obviously my legs are working, because they follow Samuel. I don't follow him out into the hallway, but rather watch from the doorway. I lean against it, and fold my arms, deciding to let him notice me. Let him come to me if he wants to.

"Ciao," Samuel says to him. 

"Ciao," He says back, obviously happy that he's not about to endure another lecture. Their backs are facing me, but I can still see his hair and his back and the back of his legs and his ankles and his neck and his shoulders. I stay quiet, and everyone else is silent too. He doesn't notice I'm here until he looks to his father who, with a tight-lipped smile, gestures to me behind them.

I watch him as he turns. When our eyes meet, blue crashing against green. I almost fall to my knees. Because he's here. Because I'm here.

_Elio._


	3. “Why Are You Here?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re really here,”

ELIO

“What?” 

“Elio-”

“He’s coming here?” 

There was a long pause.

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Elio, please, listen-”

“I’m going swimming.”

 

I didn’t go swimming. I sat on a rock, on the rock he’d sat on a year ago, every night. I sat on the rock, watched the sea and thought.

I’d thought about nothing and everything until Liliana had shown up. She hadn’t said anything, as if she could sense my poignancy. She just climbed up onto the rock next to me and leaned her head against my shoulder and wrapped her arms around my waist. I’d smiled lightly and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead before I placed an arm around her and pulled her closer.

“ _Hai intenzione di nuotare_?” she asked, her tone soft and gentle. _Are you going swimming?_ I shook my head. We sat in companionable silence for a while; just me and Liliana and the sea and the rock. I’ve never told her about last summer, about Oliver. She’s never asked. I think Marzia might have told her, even though I never told Marzia either. Marzia’s just smart like that. She always seems to know what you’re thinking, even if you don’t say it.

Liliana and Marzia are practically best friends, even though Liliana’s only been here a couple of months. She moved here from Milan with her family. Liliana has a big family; two sisters and three brothers. I’d never realised how small my intimate family truly was until I met Liliana. It had never seen like it, since we always have guests or other family members or random visitors staying at our villa with us. I only met Liliana a month ago. I’d been dancing with Marzia and our other friends when Marzia has squealed in delight and introduced me to Liliana.

Liliana‘s great. She’s lovely. She’s mine. I know she won’t go off at the end of the summer. She’ll be here next summer when I  return, in her villa and her big family and her dresses and her sunglasses and her curly black hair.

But the biggest thing I love about Liliana, and I’m partially ashamed to admit this, is that she’s the opposite of Oliver. 

She has dark black hair, compared to his blonde hair. She’s lithe and lean compared to his muscled, sculpted body. She’s shy and everything she says has meaning, contrasting to his careless and brazen attitude. She’s safe whereas he’s dangerous. She stayed and he left. She loves me back, he doesn’t. She’s a She and he’s a He. 

“ _Mi sei mancata_ ,” she said, nuzzling her nose against my neck. _I missed you_.

“ _Ti ho visto ieri,_ ” I answered, pressing a kiss to her temple. _I saw you yesterday, Liliana_.

She shrugged, a smile on her pretty face as she looked out to the sea. “ _Mi sei mancato ancora_.” _Still missed you_. I didn’t reply, I just held her tighter and kissed her on the rock until we both smelled like sea salt and each other.

 

“It’s late,” Liliana said as we ran through the orchid together. 

“Your point?” I asked, pulling her closer by the hand. She didn’t answer, just giggled as I dropped her hand and leapt over a baby cherry tree. She ran over to me and threw her arms around me as I twirled her around. We were both barefoot and slightly drunk. I had lost my shirt, although I couldn’t remember how and was running about in only my swimming trunks. Liliana’s dark hair was tosseled from the wind from the sea. 

We ended up at the front of the orchard, in plain view from the villa and if I hadn’t been drunk I would’ve probably pulled us deeper into the forest and away from prying eyes. But instead, I wrapped my arms around Liliana’s waist and kissed her until my mouth felt raw. She giggled and took a step back, her eyes gazing up and down my body as I stood there, mouth slightly open. She bit her lip and red tinted her cheeks before she disappeared into the dark orchard.

I smiled idiotically and took a drunken step forward, making to follow her, when a light in the darkness caught my eye. I turned and looked up, blinking as the bright light shone down at me. I know it’s him instantly. Not just because I can see him perfectly clear. It’s Oliver. It’s the same Oliver I see in my dreams every night. It’s the same Oliver, but seeing him with my eyes again, it waslike my dreams in high definition. Why was he here? I’d thought as I’d stared up at him. He was meant to be here tomorrow. Not today. Not in my room. Not here today.

He’s still extremely tall, maybe he’s even grown a couple inches, and his blonde hair is sticking up, as if he’s been running his hands through it constantly. I could see the Star of David lying against his chest, the one last year I’d kissed. I could see the muscles in his stomach and his cheekbones and his tanned arms. I could see the lighter skin in the inside of his legs and I could see his toes and his broad shoulders and his square jaw. 

The only thing I couldn’t really see is his face. The shadows were flickering over his face and in my drunken state I took another step forward. I don’t know why, because I don’t think I wanted to. Or maybe I did. What I wanted in that moment was to see his face. What I really wanted was to kiss his face. But suddenly something had grabbed my hand and had started pulling me away. I’d grinned as Liliana had pulled me into the forest of the fruit trees, slipping her hands under my shirt and kissing my neck. That’s how I spent the night.

There were a couple reasons why I didn’t come home last night. One being the fact that I was drunk. I knew my parents wouldn’t care, or at least father wouldn’t care. Mother might ask about it. I was drunk and I didn’t want my parents to see me drunk. I knew that sometimes they still saw me as their little Elio, and sometimes I wished with all my heart that I was. I didn’t want to show up at my home, stumbling and laughing in my drunken state. Especially after they’d told me Oliver was coming. Because then they’d think that I had drunk because he was coming. I had. But I didn’t want them to know that.

Another reason was because I had been having fun with Liliana. I liked Liliana. I liked kissing her and sleeping with her and dancing with her and running through orchards with her. I liked her dark curly hair and her plump lips and her soft skin.

The last reason, the truest reason, was because I didn’t want to see Oliver. I mean, I did. I desperately did. But I also really didn’t. I didn’t want to see his face because I was scared. I was scared that I might kiss him when I saw him. And that wouldn’t be fair. That wouldn’t be fair on Oliver or on Liliana or on Oliver’s fiancée and me. It wouldn’t be fair on me. I couldn’t do that to myself. It would be suicide. Because my heart can’t take that again. If you stop, I’ll die. I used to say that. But now, if we start I think I might die. 

As I walked home, I told myself that I had been drunk, and he hadn’t been standing on my balcony last night but I had in fact imagined it all. 

 

“Ciao,” Father says to me, clapping my shoulder before pulling me into a hug. I shut my eyes and hug him back, thankful that he’s not about to lecture me. I understand why Mother did it, and I know that if I had another mother, I would’ve been in for a lot worse. “Ciao,” I repeat.

There’s a sudden hesitation and the room is quiet. I pull out of father’s embrace and arch an eyebrow at him. When he gestures with his head behind us, I turn, my face a cast of confusion.

Then I see him. And my heart pounds so loud and hard that I think I might die. Maybe that would be a good think. A better thing. Maybe if I died, if I dropped dead right here, right now, Oliver would fall to his knees and wail for me, maybe he would realise that it was his fault and would weep at my grave.

Our eyes locked and my stomach clenches. He’s still beautiful, even if he’s leaner and looks somehow haunted. “You’re really here,” I say.

He doesn’t say anything, just smiles lightly, obviously uncomfortable. I don’t care. He’s not allowed to feel uncomfortable. This is my house. This is my hall. These are my feelings. 

“You’re early. I thought we weren’t expecting you till later today.” Again, no reply. I wonder if he’s being cowardly or if he’s shocked. I want to know what he’s thinking. I need to know what he’s thinking. I just want to know what he’s thinking. If he’s wondering if I’m happy to see him. I don’t even know what I’m thinking. There are too many thoughts flying around my mind, too many and too quickly for me to catch onto them and voice them. 

“Why are you here?”


	4. "Your ring,"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Am I to call you Professor now?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter I talk about Vimini. If you haven't read the book and have just seen the film then you have no idea what I'm banging on about.
> 
> Vimini is the Perlmans' neighbour. She is a ten-year-old girl (eleven now) diagnosed with Leukaemia. Everyone calls her a genius as she's incredibly smart for her age. In the book her and Oliver become good friends and spend a lot of time together, however Oliver forgets to say goodbye when he leaves with Elio.

OLIVER

"You're really here," he says, his voice wavering slightly. I want to walk to him. I want to hold his face in my hands, and hold him in my arms and feel him and touch him and taste him like I did last summer. But I don't. I stand still against the doorway, arms folded. I smile lightly, but it feels wrong. All of this feels wrong. It's not right. None of this is right. It's stiff and rigid. We're not right. He's saying words that could come off as kind, welcoming even, but he's saying them with a harsh tone.

His hair is longer.

That's probably not the first thing I should notice, since it's Elio fucking Perlman standing in front of me. And there should be a thousand other thoughts going through my mind right now, but that's - for some reason - the only one I can latch onto.

It's still short at the sides, but the dark curls are longer, almost falling in his face. 

I don't know why it shocks me. But it does.

“You’re early. I thought we weren’t expecting you till later today.” He's speaking with ice laced in his voice. I've never heard him speak like this, not even when I called him six months ago. I don't say anything, because I don't know what to say. I don't know what I can say to make him stay. Stay here with me.

He's wearing a humourless smirk that doesn't suit him. It's wrong. This Elio is wrong. He's angry, I can feel it, and his anger is directed purely at me. His head is held high, as if he's looking down at me, even if I've got eight inches on him. 

Or maybe it's only seven now. He looks taller than last year.

He's taller, his hair is slightly longer.

He's wearing that blue stripy polo shirt, the one he wore when we went to Bergamo. The collar's fucked, one side is all twisted and the other side is crinkled. My eyes drift down to his chest, where the open buttoned shirt exposes his pale skin. He's not wearing his Star of David. My heart drops slightly. He notices my gaze and follows my line of vision. He must know what I'm thinking because his fingers absently wander up to his neck and he taps his skin, a look of indifference on his face.

"Why are you here?" Elio asks, cocking his head slightly. His hands are in his front pockets and his eyes are narrowed. My throat bobs. Everyone in the room knows he isn't asking why I'm here. He's asking if I'm here for him. If I thought we still had a shot. But Samuel cuts in before I can speak. I don't know what I'd say anyway.

"Unfortunately, our philosophy student had to cancel last minute - family emergency," Samuel says as he places a hand on Elio's shoulder. Elio stiffens, and I wonder if he'll nudge away. He doesn't, but he purses his lips. "I offered Oliver the position and thankfully, his university managed to spare him for the summer."

Elio runs a tongue over his teeth as he arches an eyebrow at me. "You're at a university?" He asks. I don't know if it's meant to be a dig, which I highly suspect it is, or if he's genuinely asking, but I'm just so relieved that he speaking that I nod. "I'm a professor," I say, shrugging. "I teach-"

"Am I to call you Professor now?" Elio asks, cutting me off, a smirk whispering on his lips. "Or would you prefer _sir_?"

I don't know why he's making this so damn hard. Why can't he just...talk? Talk like himself. Like he used to. Why is this conversation being led by cold stares and smirks and shrugs? " _Elio_ ," I sigh, pushing myself off of the wall. But he just shakes his head. 

"I'm tired," Elio states, even though he's obviously lying. He tries to throw in a yawn as he stretches out his arms, but we all know it's bullshit. "It's been a long night." As he says that, he looks at me with a pointed look. _I know,_ I want to say. _I saw you last night, with someone else, under the peach trees_. "Is it okay if I go to my room?" He asks, looking at his parents for the first time in this conversation. His eyes are wide and his arms are folded, as if he's daring them to say otherwise. 

"Of course," Annella says, a forced smile plastered on her face. "Go, _mon chéri_. Go sleep. I will come for you at dinner." She presses a kiss to his temple and Elio smiles lightly before she rakes her hand through his mop of dark curls. We all watch as he walks up the stairs, not saying another word.

Annella sighs lightly, and turns to us. "That could've gone better," she says. Samuel opens his mouth to say something, but Annella just shakes her head. "I must attend to my sisters. They will want to know what all the shouting was about. I will see you two at dinner." With that, she kisses her husband and kisses my head before tussling my hair, just as she'd done to Elio seconds before.

"We must continue our work," Samuel says as he pats my shoulders in silent support, "or I'm afraid that you will drift off, Oliver. And we cannot have that." He smiles broadly at me before he walks back into the library, leaving the door open for me to follow.

I fear that I have already drifted, as the professor said, even as I stand frozen. I've spent months imagining this moment, planning and thinking about it on repeat in my head. But as I fight the temptation to slam my head against the wall, I ask myself what _had_ I been imagining. 

What had I expected?

I don't know. I guess I expected a warmer welcome, which in it's self is preposterous. Had I expected Elio, whom I had left, to run into my arms, for us to be what we'd been last summer?

No. I don't think I had. But had I expected him to ask whether he should call me _professor_? No. I hadn't.  

I run a hand down my face and through gritted teeth, scream in frustration and longing and disappointment. Then, I stand up straight, fix my hair and walk into the library. I can't press myself on Elio. This must be his decision. But I will be here when he decides.

And I can only hope he wants the same as me.

-

 

Elio didn't appear again until dinner. I worked with the Professor until dinner. We finished catloguing the books rather quickly after Elio appeared, because unlike before, we didn't really speak. I just listened to the shuffling coming from above me, the footsteps never ceasing, as if Elio was creating as much noise as possible on purpose. I mindlessly scanned the pages, my writing smudging and my words messy. Samuel didn't care, at least, he didn't complain or criticise. Instead, he just thanked me for my help and asked me to tell him about my classes. I smiled, grateful for the distraction from Elio upstairs. We talked for hours; discussing politics and my classes until we ended up on the subject of Vimini. 

"Have you seen Vimini yet?" he asked as he sipped his tea. My throat clenched. I hadn't seen Vimini yet. Part of me wanted to, but another part of me didn't because I knew she won't have forgotten that I never said goodbye. Of course, I didn't mean it maliciously, but I hadn't been able to, because I couldn't push one thought out of my head. _What if this is the last time I see her?_ I will see her, obviously, but I didn't think I could do it tonight.

"No. I will have to drop by. Maybe tomorrow." I said. The professor laughed lightly. "What?" I asked, smiling myself before I took a drink of the apricot juice Mafalda had given me. I had never checked if they'd sold it in America, hadn't wanted to. It wouldn't have tasted the same, and it might have ruined my taste for the stuff. I couldn't have risked that.

"I'm sure Vimini will find her way here tomorrow herself. She still talks about you, you know. Never really stopped talking about you." I don't know how to reply to that, so I just smile into my glass.

 

-

 

I fall into my usual seat at the table, my eyes wandering over the food laid out. It's more than usual. Then my eyes fall on the extra three place settings. Annella's sisters? They could possibly be staying. But I swear I heard the rev of an engine and Annella saying goodbye to them at least an hour ago.

I look to Samuel and arch my eyebrows at the extra place settings but he just shrugs, the look on his face evident that he also does not know who might be joining us. Annella appears in the doorway displaying a warm smile as she takes her own seat next to me. Her eyes wander to the empty seat next to Samuel. She opens her mouth but the professor shakes his head. She sighs pitifully before she calls Mafalda. " _Puoi per favore rimuovere l'impostazione Elio_?"

I don't understand enough of Italian to string together what she's saying. The only word I understand is Elio.

It used to feel like the only thing I ever understood was Elio. Now that Elio's gone I don't think I understand anything. I don't think I want to understand anything other than Elio Perlman.

Mafalda picks up the plate opposite mine and when she's about to pick up the glass I look down at my own empty plate, not even bothering to hide the disappointment that no doubt floods my face. Across from me, Michael's face suddenly brightens and a broad smile stretches across his face. " _Elio, fils_!"

I look up instantly, my neck straining. Elio's eyes meet mine and I smile, but when he just stares blankly at me, I lean back in my chair and fold my arms. I debate not looking at him, and wonder if I should just tear my gaze away and look down, but I just smirk at him. I shove the exact same smirk he had thrown at me back at him. He just narrows his eyes.

"Sit. Sit!" Samuel says, motioning for Elio to sit down next to him. "You slept well?" He asks as Elio slides into his seat across from mine. He doesn't look at me, and it breaks my heart. He doesn't even acknowledge me, just turns to his dad and nods. 

"Very well." We both know that's bullshit. So does Samuel. We both heard Elio walking around his room. He wasn't asleep. But no one argues against him. He looks too weak and haunted for anyone to object. He looks like a wilted flower. It hurts to know that it's my fault. " _Pouvez-vous s'il vous plaît passer les carottes_?" He asks Annella, motioning for the bowl of carrots. He better not speak French for the whole of dinner. I don't think I can cope with it. He knows I can understand it, but he doesn't care if I can hear him. He just wants me to know he's not talking to me. Wants me to feel excluded.

"No," Annella answers in English. Elio looks up with an arched eyebrow. It's then when he seems to notice the extra three place settings.

" _Nous attendons des invités_?" He asks. _We're waiting for guests?_ His tone is slightly bored and he's leaning back into his chair and scratching his neck. A cast of casual and relaxation. I know it's staged. I know his body too well. I spent hours studying it as he slept, as he swam, as he played piano. I know his body better than my own. I see how his jaw clenches, how he taps his fingers whenever he's anxious, as if he's strumming his guitar.

He's purposely ignoring me. I don't care, I keep staring at him anyway. He knows I'm watching him, because he's looking everywhere but me. " _J'ai invité..._ " Annella starts in French but changes to English with an apologetic look to me. "I invited Marzia and Chiara."

My heart stops. Elio's eyes slide to mine and a hint of a humourless smile lingers on his lips. I never said goodbye to Chiara, because I didn't want to. I liked Chiara as a person, she was funny and I could always talk to her easily, not like with Elio. But I had never liked Chiara like I like Elio. Even when I'd slept with Chiara I hadn't liked her. My mind had always wandered back to Elio.

"Marzia and Chiara," he smirks as he leans forward, his fingers playing with the rim of his glass. "How nice," he smiles at Annella before he looks at me. I just smile back. Two can play this game, Elio. But I've been in it for much longer than you.

Mafalda pours wine into Samuel and Annella's glasses and when she pours mine I thank her. When she's finished, she looks at Elio, who's looking at her, and shakes her head. " _No, troppo giovane_ ," she says. _No, too young_.

I stifle a laugh as I watch Elio's mouth fall open. Samuel and Annella don't bother, they both laugh heartily as Elio makes an exasperated face as he fails his arms. "Mafalda!" he exclaims. " _Ho diciotto anni!" I am eighteen_. Mafalda looks at him, arms folded and head cocked. " _Non puoi dirmi cosa bere!_ " You can't tell me what to drink!

Mafalda bites the inside of her cheek, as if she's considering, before she turns to Annella. " _S_ _ignora Perlman_!" She exclaims, gesturing to Elio's empty glass aswell as his stormy face.

" _Lui può bere qualcosa.Tutto ok,"_ Annella says, trying to subside her laughter. She must've allowed it, 'cause Mafalda pours some of the red wine into Elio's glass, even if she's frowning as she does it. When Mafalda is inside, Elio folds his arms and looks to his parents with a red face. He's embarrassed.

" _Elle me traite comme un enfant_ ," he murmurs as he drinks the wine. _She treats me like a child_. His nose crinkles, and I wonder if he even likes it. Annella shakes her head lightly and reaches over the table to squeeze Elio's pale hand. " _Elle ne veut que le meilleur pour toi_ ," she smiles.  _She only wants the best for you._ Elio just shrugs as his mother pulls away her hand to light a cigarette. 

" _J'ai dix-huit ans_ ," he repeats, in French this time, instead of Italian. It's always amazed me how easily the Perlman's can slip in and out of all the languages. They speak English just aswell as French and just aswell as Italian. It's incredible. I can only speak English and I do, admittedly, know quite a lot of French. I learned some Italian words last year, but barely enough to follow a conversation. If Elio wants to ignore me, he should just switch to that. I wouldn't really care. Elio speaking Italian is one of the best things in life. Even if I can't understand what he's saying.

" _Quand arrivent Mariza et Chiara_ _?_ " he asks, turning to Michael who just shrugs.  _When will Marzia and Chiara arrive?_ Elio arches an eyebrow but the Professor just gives him a look that seems to say, this is all your mother's doing. Elio and Samuel have always been able to do that. Have full conversations without speaking. It's incredible. The connection between the three of them, that is. I would kill for parents like Michael and Annella. My parent's aren't as...forgiving. Or liberal. Or understanding. Or even as loving.

"Marzia, Chiara...and _Liliana_ ," Annella says as she blows out a thin cloud of smoke. I don't recognise the name Liliana, but Elio obviously does. He sits up straight, practically jumping out of his chair, and moves forward, mouth open and eyes wide. He looks shocked, and anxious; his green eyes are painted in confusion and his jaw is slightly trembling." _Pourquoi as-tu invité Liliana? Pourquoi ferais-tu ça?_ " he asks. His fists are tightened on the surface and he's going to knock his glass over. I slowly reach my hand over and pick up his glass, placing it down further away from him and his bouncing legs and fidgeting hands. He's so caught up he doesn't even notice.

" _Pourquoi l'inviterais-tu? Elle vient ici? Liliana?"_ he asks, his words all tumbling out at once. Elio always talks quickly; probably because he's always the child at a table with intelligent adults and he always needs to grasp his chance to speak. 

Annella just shrugs calmly. "She was with them. I couldn't _not_ invite her," she eyes him suspiciously as she places her cigarette down. "I thought you liked Liliana. You've been spending a lot of time with her." 

Elio's green eyes slowly slide to me. He's not panicky anymore, as if he's realised that he can't change the situation. His eyes are painted in regret and helplessness. He slowly nods, his eyes still locked on mine, before he leans back in his chair and sighs, leaning his head back and looking up at the dark blue sky.

Then it clicks.

 

_The collar's fucked, one side is all twisted and the other side is crinkled._

_You've been spending a lot of time with her._

_I squint in the dark, but I can only make out two blurry figures standing under the peach trees. They're standing close together, extremely close together, and the laughing stops for a moment, undoubtedly to do something else with their mouths._

 

Liliana's his girlfriend. Or at least someone important to him. Someone he kisses in fruit orchards at night. Someone he spends a lot of time with. Someone he probably cycles with. Someone he probably dances with. Maybe he took her to Monet's Berm. Maybe he's fucked her in the bed I slept in last night. Maybe she sits on his lap when he plays Bach. Maybe he loves her.

Maybe he loves her.

Maybe Elio loves someone other than me now.

 

-

 

"This crostata is incredible, Mrs Perlman. You must thank Mafalda for us."

"I most certainly will, Marzia. But how many times must I remind you to call me Annella?"

"Of course. Thank you, Annella."

Dinner was painful. I sat there, a fake smile plastered on my face as I talked with Chiara - who I had ended up sitting next to, much to my utter dismay - and Samuel about California. At the other end of the table, Annella talked to Mariza about their families and Marzia's favourite writers. Elio sat next to Liliana across from me. Neither of them really touched their food, and Elio actually turned his whole body away from me to face her. About halfway through dinner, they had somehow ended up holding hands.

I get it.

She's beautiful.

She's slight and petite, but she's not skinny like Elio. She has big, dark curls that tumble gracefully to her collarbone. She has freckles dusted around her face; a delicate nose, plump lips, high cheekbones, arched eyebrows. She's beautiful. She's also quiet and shy, barely spoke a word to anyone apart from Elio. Her voice is light and I bet she can sing. Whenever Elio leans over to whisper something in her ear or trace his fingers down her arm, she laughs. Her laugh is twinkly and in a way refreshing. It sounds a bit like music. Like the type of music Elio would play. 

She's the exact opposite of me.

Maybe that's the point.

I kind of wanted to kill her. I still kinda do.

"Oliver?" 

I turned to Chiara, my face feeling hot. My throat bobbed and I bit my lip. By the way she was glaring at me, and by the way Samuel was trying to suppress a smile; I gathered that that probably wasn't the first time she'd said my name.

"Sorry," I apologised, my words clumsy and flustered, "I was...uh...I-"

"Was ignoring me," she said, her face a mix of frustration and amusement.

"I didn't hear you," I objected, running a hand trough my hair. It was at that point that I suddenly realised that everyone at the table was staring at me. Annella was smiling softly as she smoked; Marzia was gazing at me with wonder and suspicion in her dark eyes as she moved her fork around her plate; Chiara was staring, her brows lowered; the Professor was throwing me an understanding grin as he leaned back in his chair; Liliana was monitoring both me and Elio carefully, biting her lip as she leaned on him; and Elio was just watching me, his eyes slightly narrowed.

Chiara snorted at my answer but Samuel just nodded before he repeated the question. "Chiara asked if you were happy to be back." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. The most plain question anyone could possibly ask. There was only one answer I could possibly give anyway.

"Of course I am," I smiled. "When Pro asked if I would like to spend another summer here helping him, I dropped everything and came here. I barely remembered to pack. I'm anxious that I have left something at home, I left in such a hurry."

That seemed like a satisfactory answer since Samuel grinned at me and patted my shoulder and Chiara just laughed at my pitiful try at humour. About ten minutes of talking and drinking and laughing went past until Elio spoke up.

"Your ring," he said. I hadn't known he was talking to me until I felt his eyes on me. "Your ring," he repeated when I turned to him. His eyes went wandered down from my face to my left hand. Seemingly, my bare ring finger.

I clenched my jaw. "What?" I asked, not bothering with niceties. 

"You left your ring at home. Did you forget to pack it?" It took me a moment to realise that he was referring to the statement I'd made about ten minutes ago. A part of me was annoyed at him for asking. He was smart enough, he could put two and two together. I wasn't wearing my ring, and there was an obvious explanation. He just wanted me to admit it. He wanted to hear it from me.

Another part of me was slightly impressed. This is not the Elio I remember. That boy would never have attacked someone who hadn't provoked him first. Not that the Elio I remember was feeble; as he certainly wasn't. Elio had made all the first moves last summer, I had just followed along. Not that I hadn't wanted to. I had. Had wanted to with every bone in my body. With every part of my heart and soul. Elio had a deep maturity to him now, albeit a slightly harsher one. Maybe this newfound self-assuredness had seemed from a heart-break. A heart-break I had caused. 

"No," I said, leaning forward slightly. "I didn't forget to pack it."

Elio just smirked, although his emotionless smile faltered slightly when Liliana wrapped an arm around him. "So, you lost it?"

Why was he pushing so damn hard? Did he want me to say it? Did he really want to hear me say it? In front of his parents? In front of his girlfriend?

"In a way," I said, trying to keep my voice from breaking as I took a sip of the wine. Maybe that's why Elio was acting so deluded. Maybe he was drunk. I hope he was drunk. Because that would mean he really wasn't this cruel and mean-spirited.

I was aware that the rest of the table had fallen quiet. I don't know if the Perlmans had told Marzia and Chiara of my engagement, I certainly don't even know if Liliana knew who I was before this dinner.

"In a way?" Elio asked. Samuel shot him a look but Elio either didn't see or didn't care. Marzia was watching from the top of the table, although she'd slunk down into her chair was her eyes were slightly closed, as if she couldn't bare to watch.

" _Elio_ ," Annella said, warning slipping into her tone. 

"I am merely making conversation," Elio said, his eyes not breaking contact with mine. My lips twitched into a smile as I leaned slightly further over the table, closer to him. 

"Think about what you're saying," I breathed. Elio just stared right back.

"I am," he whispered back. I cocked my head slightly, making a point of running my eyes over his family and friends.

"You sure you wanna do this here, Elio? Now?" We held each other's gaze for a second, before Elio shook his head and fell back in his chair with a huff of amusement. Everyone was silent for a moment before Chiara stood up.

"Dinner was great, thank you for inviting us Mrs Perlman. We must be going now though, I'm afraid we promised the others we'd be down at the piazza by half eight." Annella nodded, and thanked the girls for coming, before she stood from her place and went inside - no doubt to find Mafalda. Chiara, Marzia and Liliana thanked Samuel, who told them they were welcome anytime before he followed Annella inside. 

Chiara and Marzia both kissed me on the cheek before they started to walk off, waiting at the gate for Liliana. I stayed in my chair. So did Elio. Well, until Liliana stood up and asked Elio if he wanted to come with them. He looked up at her, before he looked at me, his green eyes dancing. I thought he might stay, might decline Liliana's offer. But he nodded and stood, letting her lead him away by the hand.

"Ciao," Liliana smiled at me.

Ciao, I said, limply waving. My eyes met Elio's and I saw the hesitation in his step. But he just lightly shook his head - at me or himself, I don't know - and only looked at me once more before he vanished into the night.

"Later," he said, and even though he meant it coldly and bitter, I still heard the warmth in his voice.

 

Even now, as I lie on this bed and look up at the ceiling, I can still hear his voice.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for that reader who wanted longer chapters, I got you x


	5. "I Would Have Stayed."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A love song."
> 
> "A love song."

ELIO

" _Oliver è simpatico_ ," Liliana says as we walk together. _Oliver is nice_. I look up and watch Marzia and Chiara walking in front of us. Chiara is giggling and they both have their arms wrapped around each others' shoulders.

 _"Sì. Molto simpatico_." I nod, keeping my eyes trained forward. _Yes. Very nice_.

She catches my swaying hand and takes it in her own. My stomach clenches. Her hand feels wrong. It's too small and elegant and smooth. I just want to get the piazza and go dancing and stop talking. No. What I really want to do is go home and lie in bed and feel bad for myself.

 _"È rimasto l'estate scorsa_?" she asks, looking up at me, smiling lightly. _He stayed last summer?_  Why is she asking so many damn questions? I look down at her and just nod. She bites her lip and squeezes my hand lightly. My throat feels stuck. " _Non mi hai mai detto di lui_." She looks up at me from under her thick eyelashes. She's frowning, but only slightly, her brows lowered. _You never told me about him._ I just shrug, resisting the urge to pull my hand away from hers. I keep walking, hoping that she'll stop asking questions about Oliver. I can't think about Oliver. Not right now.

I keep walking, thinking that Liliana's following me, when I feel a light tug on my hand. I turn, eyebrows furrowed. Liliana's stopped but she's still holding my hand, so I have no choice but to stop aswell. She takes a small step towards me and drapes one arm over my shoulder.

" _Perché_?" She asks softly, almost whispering. _Why?_ Her dark brown eyes are glistening up at me expectingly. 

I never told Liliana about Oliver, because I wanted to keep him in my mind and my heart, and my mind and my heart alone. If I'd told Liliana about him, not even about us, just purely about him - the American student who stayed with us last year - I would have been forced to live through the hurt and agony again. I want a fresh start with Liliana, a new start. Liliana's not going to leave. She lives here, she'll always be here when I come back. She's safe. 

She's also the exact opposite of Oliver. 

Maybe that's why I'm attracted to her, because I thought I could erase the memories of Oliver on my body.

I'm about to answer her when there's a shout in front of us. " _Sbrigati_!" I look ahead of me to see Chiara and Marzia waiting in front of us, waving their hands. They're screaming at us to hurry up, impatience painting their faces. Liliana laughs and starts to run, still holding my hand, but my feet stay rooted to the spot. 

She turns to face me as she slowly walks backwards, eyebrow arched. " _Venuta_?" She asks, cocking her head and throwing me a side smirk. _Coming_?

My throat bobs. Part of me wants to turn around and walk home. I just want to walk alone along the gravel paths and through the fields. I want to walk, in silence except from the melody of the birds' song, with my head tipped up to the dark sky. But when Liliana bites her lip and lightly tugs my hand, her dress blowing in the wind and her tanned legs and hips and small waist practically fucking staring at me...when she does that it sends a shiver through my body. 

So, instead of walking home, I smile back and when Liliana pulls me along again, I follow.

 

-

 

I walked Marzia home after an hour of dancing. Well, neither of us really danced, we more sat at the side talking and watching our friends dance. Marzia and I talked about what universities we wanted to apply to, when The Smiths started playing. To be more specific, Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now. As soon as the song started to play, Marzia laughed and lightly elbowed me. I just rolled my eyes.

"It's melodically limited, so purposefully  _joyless_ and miserable. And it's such as waste of a good guitarist," I told Mariza as she smiled at me, laughing and shaking her head. "Am I not miserable enough to enjoy it?" I asked, trying not to laugh as Marzia clutched her stomach. Admittedly, we were a both drunk. "Do I need to be crying to listen to them? Why does he sound like he's wailing?"

Mariza and I spent the rest of the night laughing till our stomachs ached and our cheeks hurt. Liliana sat next to us for a bit, but she quickly grew tired of the music talk and excused herself. I watched as she skipped over to the rest of our friends, who welcomed her with loud laughs and cheers. "Liliana!" They had cheered before they'd all disappeared into the sea of dancing people.

When Marzia asked if I wanted to walk home with her, since her house was on the way to mine, I had tried to find Liliana, but it seemed like she had drowned in the sea of crappy music and slightly drunken dancers. I figured she’d be fine, I’d see her later anyway.

Later. I hate that word. I haven’t spoken it since Oliver left. Yesterday was the first time I’ve said it for six months. 

Now, I’m sitting on the old brick wall outside Marzia’s house. We’re not talking, just sitting. Her head’s on my shoulder and I can feel her breathing.

I’ve never asked Marzia if she’s okay with me and Liliana. I think she is. But I don’t know. I’ve never really been good at reading people. 

The sky’s featureless apart from the stars. I breathe out and smile lightly, I’ve always liked watching the stars. I look down when Marzia tilts her head to look at me.

“ _Tu m'as manqué,_ ” she breathes. _I missed you_. 

I arch my eyebrow. “ _J'ai été ici tout le temps_ ,” I reply as I lean back slightly, gripping the bricks underneath me. _I’ve been here the whole time._

“ _Non. Pas vraiment, Elio_.” She closes her eyes and tips her head back, her dark curls tumbling down like a gushing waterfall. _No. Not really, Elio_.

I know what she means. Since Oliver left...after he left...it took awhile to sort myself out. And I came out from it different, harder. I know I did. I had to. I had to be stronger for myself and my sanity. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life thinking about Oliver, no matter how much I wanted to.

“ _Je suis là maintenant_ ,” I whisper. _I’m here now_. Mariza opens her eyes and smiles lightly, her teeth glistening in the moonlight. She runs a hand through my hair and nods.

“ _Je connais_.” _I know_. I smile back, but it comes out bashful and I have to look away. 

Mariza laughs and lightly elbows me. “ _C'est ce que je veux dire. J'ai raté tes sourires timides. Votre discours musical et vos rires m'ont manqué. J'ai manqué mon meilleur ami. Mais maintenant il est de retour...”_ she trails off slightly _._ She doesn’t say his name. She doesn’t have to. We both now who she means.  _That's what I mean. I missed your shy smiles. I missed your music talk and laugh. I missed my best friend. But now he's back..._ I just nod, biting my lip as our legs dangle from the high wall.

 _“Vous aussi. Tu es de retour, Elio,”_ she says. _You are too. You’re back, Elio._ Hearing Marzia say that feels like being pulled out of water after nearly drowning. I should probably say something back, but nothing comes to mind, so I just wrap an arm around Marzia and we watch the stars together. We sit like that until Marzia’s older brother appears in her doorway and tells her to come inside.

" _Bonne nuit_ ," Mariza smiles as she jumps from the wall. She leans against her iron gate while I jump down, hissing when a stray sharp piece of brick scratches my arm. I watch as it bleeds, the blood running down my arm. I dab at it with the bottom of my shirt, but it doesn’t stop bleeding. 

“ _Emmenez-moi à la librairie demain_ ,” Marzia says as she steps off of her gate and pushes it open. _Take me to the bookshop tomorrow_. 

“ _D'accord_ ,” I shrug as I keep wiping at the cut. Marzia kisses me on the cheek before she walks to her house, waving to me before she slips inside. As I walk home, the stars singing above me, I feel more like myself than I have in months.

 

-

 

When I arrive home, it’s about half eleven. I try to sneak up to my room, but as soon as I take a step into the hall I hear my name being called from the library. “ _Elio, mon chéri_.”

I smile shyly as I push the door open further to reveal Mother and Father sitting together on the ottoman, a book open in Mother’s hands. “Ciao,” I say from the doorway, a smile on my face at my parents. I have never seen two people so happy together.

“Come sit, Elio,” Father says, as Mother shuffles along, patting the space between them. I nod, and place myself down, kissing Mother’s cheek before I leaned my head down on her shoulder. She smiles down at me but her smiles turns to a frown when she sees the cut on my arm. "How did that happen?" She asks, picking up my arm to look at it.

I shrug. "Scraped it on a wall." She frowns slightly, her motherly nature kicking into overdrive.

"Make sure you clean that, Elio." She tells me, her brows knitted together. I promise her I will and she nods, still side eying the cut as she hold up the book. “I think there is a high possibility that you have already read this, Elio.” I probably have. I’ve read most of the books in this library. Some of them twice. “So it won’t matter where we start.” I shake my head. 

Mother smiles and presses a kiss to my forehead before she traces the pages of the book. “When we were small, Jem and I confined our activities to the southern neighborhood, but when I was well into the second grade at school and tormenting Boo Radley became passe, the business section of Maycomb drew us frequently...”

The copy of To Kill A Mockingbird Mother’s holding is an American edition and one that I haven’t seen before, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s always belonged in our library or if it found it's way in last summer. 

When Mother’s finished reading, she pats my hair and stands up, placing the book down next to me. She smiles her motherly, loving smile before she kisses Father and tells him not to linger. He chuckles lightly and nods and we sit on the ottoman together in silence until Mother walks out of the room. 

“It has been a long time since you’ve sat with us and read.” I turn to Father and chew the inside of my cheek. I nod and he smiles softly. “This was nice.”

“It was,” I agree as Father pats my shoulder and stands. 

“You are becoming an incredibly intelligent and mature young man, Elio,” he says. I swallow, my mouth dry. “Just remember not to lose your soul and your kindness along the way.” He looks down at me with a warm smile on his face. “You are kind, Elio. You are good and marvellous and wonderful and there are so many people who love you,” he pauses slightly as he pushes my hair back slightly. “Do not be too unforgiving, son. Do not lock away your heart and vow to never love again. If we do not love in this life then what is the point in living at all?”

I don’t reply, just look down at the book sitting next to me. I hear Father sigh lightly, but I'm pretty sure it's not an exasperated sigh but rather a relieved one. I look up as Father walks out of the room, smiling brightly at me. “Goodnight Elio. Try and get some sleep.” I just nod before I fall onto my back, dangling my arms over the sides. I sigh and tilt my head slightly to the side, biting my lip when my eyes fall on the book. I tentatively pick it up, holding it up as I lightly trace the title with my fingers. I flip the cover open and my heart jolts when I see a handwritten inscription at the bottom of the first page. 

_Professor Perlman,_

_I am not giving this book to you on account of you enjoying it - as I have a suspicion that you have definitely read this book, and hopefully loved it as much as me. I am giving you this book because now I have a reason for coming back to Cerma soon to ask what you thought of this book. I hope you know I will grab at the smallest chance to once more return. I will be eternally grateful to you and your family for opening up your home and welcoming me as one of your own. I doubt I will ever taste an apricot or a peach as nice as I have here. I will send you a copy of my manuscript as soon as possible. Once again, thank you Pro. This is a thank you note, but it is also a promise. I promise that I will return._

He didn't sign it. He didn't need to. 

He was always going to come back. Or at least he promised he would.

Was that really the reason he had to come back? A book? He wanted to talk to Father about a book? 

I sigh and let the book fall out of my hands and tumble onto the floor. Maybe this is why he came back. Maybe he doesn't really care about me. He'd said at Christmas he remembered everything, but maybe he doesn't anymore. 

_I hope you know I will grab at the smallest chance to once more return._

 

I half expected to see a _Later!_  scrawled at the bottom, but there's not. I let out a deep sigh and let my head fall against the ottoman. Maybe everything would be easier if Oliver and broken his promise, if he'd never come back. Why did she have to come back? I think as I violently hit my head repeatedly against the seat. I let out a frustrated sigh and kick the book. Fucking promises. Fucking bullshit. Why can't I ever just tell what he's thinking? 

 

OLIVER

I watch as Elio walks up the gravel path alone. He's smiling, his arms swaying at his sides. He's only been gone two hours, why is he back so soon? I lean over further, head in my hands as he starts singing softly. It makes me smile as I watch him take a skip and run his hands over the leaves of the green bushes. Maybe he's drunk. Maybe he's just happy. Maybe he got laid.

Elio's still singing as he gets closer to the house. I wince as his voice gets louder. It's not that he's bad at singing, he's clearly a virtuoso, it's the way he's singing. I don't know the song, I'm pretty sure it's in Italian. But even though I don't understand it, I can tell it's meant to be a melancholy song. His voice is breaking as he runs his hands through his hair. He looks up slightly, and I instinctively take a step back, not wanting him to see me, but when he just keeps singing, his head tipped, I realise he's looking at the stars.

You can never see the stars in California. I look up at the dark sky, sequin-silver stars like the scattered embers of a dying fire shine down. The chill wind lightly blows against me, my hair swaying slightly. I just watch the stars for a moment, head in my hands as I lean on the railing. When I look back down, Elio's gone. He must be inside now. I sigh and my head falls forward. For the next couple of minutes, I just look up at the sky, Elio's song on repeat in my head.

When I hear the piano, I think that maybe I'm going insane. That somehow Elio's voice in my head has now morphed into music. Then I blink, and realise that actual music is actually being played from somewhere. I turn, and walk through my room, slowly pushing open my door. The music gets louder and I look around the hall. I know who's playing. There's only one person I know who can play anything like that. I bite my lip, debating whether I should just turn around and lock the door or just go for it and walk downstairs. I don't even know if Annella and Samuel are asleep; for all I know, Elio could be playing for them, and I don't want to intrude. Also, Mafalda could be around, and if she sees me walking around alone, I'm in for a scolding. 

I decide to throw caution to the wind and go with the latter. I hold my breath as I walk down the stairs. What am I even going to do? Talk to him? Interrupt him? While I walk through the villa, the song filling the whole house, I realise that the song Elio's playing was the one he'd been singing earlier. It might aswell be a siren's song, the way it's clawing at me, practically dragging me closer. My heart tightens as I listen to the falling diminuendos and the floating notes. It sounds twinkly, like stars, like Liliana's laugh. The door to the sitting room is open and when I see him, I hold my breath.

Elio's sitting at the piano; eyes closed, elegant fingers fluently flying over the keys, right foot tapping the strong beat on the floor as he plays. He looks so small and lean in comparison to the big, black, beast he's taming with his music. Elio is a different person when he plays. He starts to hum, nodding his head.

Guilt suddenly overwhelms me as I watch Elio play. He doesn't know I'm here. Maybe I _shouldn't_ be here. 

I know he's just playing the piano, but it feels like I've walked into something too personal, too private, too intimate. I try to take a step back, but I can't. Elio starts playing faster and harsher now. He stops humming, his head moving with his hands as he plays harder, pushing down on the keys. Even from here, I can see his jaw is clenched, and his hair is falling slightly in front of his face. He almost stands up, his top riding up, exposing his pale back. I can see his spine until his shirt slides down again as he almost slams on the keys. I tell myself to leave, and I manage to take a step back, desperately trying to tear myself away from Elio and his music when suddenly the music stops. It just stops. He hits the keys one more time and he sits back down.

Elio's panting and he runs a hand through his hair before he slams down the piano cover. He exhales deeply and I bite my lip, trying to take a step back, when the floorboard gives a traitorous creak. I swear colourfully under my breath and tighten my fists. Elio's narrow body stiffens and he sucks in a breath, his whole body tense.

"That was pulchritudinous," I breathe. Elio's silent for a moment, before he laughs softly and turns on the stool, arching an eyebrow up at me.

"Do you know what that word _means_?" he asks. I smile, I can't help it. 

"Don't try and change the subject. Did you write that?" He pushes his tongue into his cheek and just nods, shrugging lightly. "What's it called?"

" _Le Stelle_ ," he whispers, looking down. I swallow, and make to take a step forward, towards him when his head snaps up, his eyes meeting mine. He stands up and tries to take a conspicuous step back, away from me. "It's nothing...just something I've been working on for a bit...it's not done. It's not...it's not...it's not finished, I mean, I need to clean up the start and the ending's not even really written yet, that was mainly just improvisation and uh..." he stammers and trails off. I give a small huff of amusement; this is the Elio I remember. Downplaying his immense and incredible worth. He's not humble or modest, because I don't think he genuinely, actually understands how incredible he is. He’s just oblivious.

"It was beautiful. Moving and intense and melancholy and-"

Elio looks at me and frowns slightly. "It's not _melancholy_."

"Oh?" I ask, folding my arms. "What would you say it is?"

He looks me dead in the eyes as he says, "A love song." I can't stop the small half smile that twitches on my lips.

"A love song," I repeat, dragging out the syllables. 

"A love song," he nods his head. I like this Elio. It almost feels like we're back to last summer, where we would constantly taste each other's words in our own voices.

I watch as he bites his lip and looks away, scratching the back of his neck. I decide to take my chance. He's talking to me. I don't know if this'll even happen again. Might as well give this a shot. "Who did you write it for?" I ask. I meant for my tone to come across as confident and self-assured, but my voice is wavering and shaking slightly. I pray that he doesn't notice.

"Why do you care?" he asks. He's tempting me. Wants me to tell him. As if he doesn't already know. I don't speak quickly, I need to choose how to word this carefully. But he doesn't even give me a second to think before he asks another question. "When's your wedding?"

"Elio," I start but he just shrugs and takes a step towards me. I take a step towards him, arms still folded. 

"Am I invited?" He asks. The question should be a jab, the words he's saying are cruel, but his tone is soft and fragile as he looks up at me from under his eyelashes. 

"I'm not getting married, Elio. My engagement...it's not...I'm not...I can't...it's...I'm..." I don't even know what to say. "I'm not getting married."

"You know what being engaged means, right?" Elio says, his tone completely different from seconds before. "It means you're getting married." He shakes his head and, sighing, falls onto the sofa, lifting his feet onto the coffee table in front of him and folding his arms. I pinch the bridge of my nose and sit into the armchair opposite him. "You're not listening to me," I sigh, exasperatedly, placing my feet next to his on the table. 

"Then talk," he says, looking up at me, his face indifferent. 

"Are you going to listen? Or are you going to keep shooting me down?" I ask, arching an eyebrow up at him.

He runs his tongue over his teeth and nods, "Depends," he says, a trace of a smile on his face.

I sigh and nod, sitting up straight and running a hand through my hair. Even though I know he's looking at me, I can't look at him while I talk about this. "I'm not getting married, 'cause I'm not engaged anymore. Me and Jess-" I pause, glancing up at him. "Her name's Jess." 

"Jess," he repeats. It's weird hearing her name in Elio's voice. Especially when he says it in an Italian accent. It's like worlds colliding. It reminds me that Cerma, the Perlmans, they're not just mine, not just in a little bubble that is separate from the rest of the world. The rest of my world.

"Is that why you didn't want...why you ignored me the first couple of weeks? When you said you didn't want to regret anything, is that what you meant?" There's a pause of silence. I don't really get what he's trying to say. He chews on his bottom lip and burrows down deeper into the sofa. "Do you regret... _regret_ _cheating on...Jess_?" I feel sick. 

"No. No, Elio," I say quickly. "It wasn't...we weren't like that. I don't regret _anything_. Nothing." He doesn't say anything else, just picks up a cushion from beside him and hugs it to his chest. "Okay?" I say, needing to hear him say it back.

He just looks up a me, his dark eyelashes fluttering. "Okay," he says, nodding slowly. I nod too, but I don't really know why. 

"Me and Jess, we weren't together when I came here. We separated a month before I left. We didn't get back together until I'd been in California for a month. I had to...I needed time to..." I trail off unsure of where I'm going with this. "I've known Jess my whole life. We've been best friends since we were kids. Then, I guess, I don't really know how it happened, but we ended up getting together." 

"You fell in love," Elio whispers and I don't even know if he meant to say it. He's clutching the cushion to his stomach, but he's slightly buried his face in it.

"No," I say instantly. "No, I didn't. At least, not like that. Not with Jess. Never with Jess."

There's a pause and I don't even know what to say. I lightly bump his foot with mine. He looks up as he rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I'm tired," he says, his hands falling onto the cushion. His eyes are red and glassy with far more than tiredness. I watch helplessly as he stands up, dropping the cushion on the sofa. While I look at him, I notice a slash on his right arm, there's dried blood on his arm, and I'm pretty sure the cut is bleeding aswell. It makes my stomach jolt as I remember Elio slouched in that dark corner, bloody napkin held to his nose, head tipped back and sighing. He sees me looking and shoves his arms aggressively behind his back.

"Elio," I sigh.

"What?" He asks, shrugging as he walks backwards so he can still see me. 

"You can't just walk away!" I exclaim, standing up and walking after him. "Elio!" He looks at me with an emotion on his face that I can't quite place. "I broke it off. I'm not engaged anymore!"

"What does that change?" He says quietly but angrily. 

My throat bobs, " _Everything_."

" _Nothing_ ," he hisses. "It changes nothing, Oliver." I open my mouth to protest but he cuts in. "Do you remember what you asked me? When you called to tell me you were _engaged_?" I do. Of course I remember. I don't say it; but he does. " _Do you mind?_ You asked me if I minded! What did you even expect me to say to that? What did you want me to say?" 

"Elio," I try, but he's not listening.

"I didn't answer, Oliver. I didn't tell you to do anything. I didn't ask you to say anything. I didn't ask you to break off your engagement. So if you did it for me, then that was stupid. Really fucking stupid." His voice is cracking and his hands are flailing. 

" _I didn't have a lot of options, Elio_ ," I jeer. 

"Yes you did," he says. "You just didn't want to even try. You didn't even try."

"Try _what_?" I ask, our voices are getting both increasingly quiet and angry at the same time. "What could I have done? What could I have done differently, Elio? What would _you_ have done?"

"Everything! You could've done everything differently. I would've...I would've...I would have stayed."

Did he really just say that?

His eyes are watering and even now, when he's fucking screaming at me, he looks so young. His narrow shoulders are shaking in rage and his green eyes are wide. "I would have stayed," he says again before he gives me a pointed look and shakes his head. It feels like a dagger has just stabbed me in the stomach. We're so close to each other and I think he might punch me. Maybe I deserve it. No, I definitely deserve it. He should punch me.

"Elio," I say softly. I don't want to be fighting. I didn't come here to _fight_.

"I don't think we can fix this," he whispers, looking up at me. 

"We can try," I breathe. He shuts his eyes as he runs a hand down his face. "Elio," I start but before I can even speak, Elio practically pounces on me. His lips press against mine, his hands running through my hair.His body's against mine and I desperately try to shut out the thoughts of what we did last summer. I should stop this, I tell myself at the exact moment I open my own mouth and push back, wrapping my arms around him. I can feel him smiling into the kiss which just makes me want to kiss him more. So I do. Now his hands are pushing up under my shirt and tracing my skin. I should really stop this. But I really don't want to. 

I start to shake my head, but Elio just grips onto my shirt and pulls me closer, going on his toes. The kiss becomes desperate and heated and I think if I stop I'll die. Elio moans into the kiss and it sends a shiver up my spine, causing my arch to back and Elio grasps on. I want to keep going, more than anything in the world, but I can't. I know we can't - shouldn't - do this. 

So I pull back, and Elio falls back onto his feet, his wide, innocent eyes staring up at me. I open my mouth to speak, to somehow resurrect what I just slaughtered by pulling away, but he takes a step back. "Elio," he whispers. I hold my breath. He says it again and it feels like I've just plunged into cold water and now I'm drowning.

I watch, frozen as he walks out of the room backwards, holding my gaze with his own. It's only when he's gone that I let myself speak.

"Oliver."


	6. “Please.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What have you got against England?”
> 
> “What have you got against the US?”

ELIO

" _Que penses-tu de celle-ci_?" _What do you think about this one?_

Why did he pull away?

Why did he even kiss me in the first place if he was going to pull away?

" _Elio, as-tu déjà lu ça_?"

Well, technically I kissed him first. But he kissed me back. Right? Am I imagining this? Fuck, am I? 

" _Elio. Elio._ _J'ai demandé si vous lisiez ceci, Elio. Elio_?" _Elio. Elio. I asked if you've read this? Elio. Elio?_

Why did I even kiss him in the first place? 

Did I even really want to? Or was it some sort of weird thing to prove to myself that I'm definitely over him? I'm over him, I think. Am I? Was I ever? I need to stop this. Even thinking about the kiss is making me hard.

"Elio!" 

I snap out of my reverie and throw Marzia a wan smile. She rolls her eyes before she flicks open the book she's reading. " _N'achetez pas ça_ ," I tell her and take it out of her hands, placing it back on the shelf. _Don't buy that_. Marzia arches an eyebrow at me. " _Je l'ai, vous pouvez emprunter le mien._ " _I have it, you can borrow mine_. Visiting the bookshop has become a sort of loose tradition for me and Marzia. We come every week and normally spend about an hour just reading and laughing. We started last Christmas, the day after Oliver called. The first few days we came, the owner kept asking if we were going to buy anything. He's stopped now, he just smiles at us when we walk in together. Sometimes, if he's in a good mood, he'll offer us coffee.

I start scanning the other shelves, running my hand along the spines.

Marzia sits on the bottom step of the ladder that lies against the shelves. She taps my leg with her foot and I look down at her, smiling. She doesn't say anything, just cocks her head at me. " _Quoi_?" I ask, pulling out a book and reading the back. _What?_

 _"A quoi étais-tu en train de penser?"_ she asks as I hand her the book.  _What were you thinking about?_ She scans the back and flips through the pages. My stomach tightens as I remember a very similar conversation with Oliver from last year.  When I don't answer she looks up at me and smiles. I roll my eyes and shrug. " _Rien_ ," I say. _Nothing_. 

" _Rien_ ," she repeats slowly, clicking her tongue. I snort and give a humourless laugh, giving the ladder she's sitting on a push. She laughs as she holds onto the sides and slides away. " _Donc tu ne me le diras pas_?" She asks as I starts to walk down the aisle. _So you won't tell me?_

 _So I won't tell you_ , is what I want to say. But I don't. I just say, " _Non,_ " and keep walking, turning into a new aisle. 

 _"As-tu pensé à Liliana_?" she calls from the other side of the shelf. _Were you thinking about Liliana?_ When Marzia mentions Liliana's name my stomach drops. I've not talked to her today. I just left her alone last night. No, she would've been fine. She had been with Chiara. I'm sure she was fine.

" _Non_ ," I call back, smiling when Marzia pokes her head around the shelf. She grins and walks towards me, grabbing the book I'm holding out of my hand. 

" _Université_?" she asks, tracing the cover with her fingers. I shake my head. I'm not going to tell her. She probably already knows, she just doesn't want me to feel embarrassed. Marzia's nice like that, she always thinks of other people's feelings. " _Je vais acheter celui-ci_ _,_ "she says, holding up the book. _I'm going to buy this one_. I just shrug, which is stupid, because by the way she looks at me, I know she knows something's up.

 

-

 

As we walk back to mine, Marzia stays surprisingly quiet. " _Ça va_?" I ask looking up at Marzia. She's walking on the wall as she's reading her new book. Remarkably, she hasn't fallen over yet. I'm walking right next to her - just in case. " _Oui_ ," she nods, still looking at her book; not seeing when I eye her suspiciously. 

As we walk, my shoes crunching on the stoney path. The sun was shining bright today, the heat beating mercilessly down on us.The green fields lay surrounding us are like divine fingerprints, curving and changing, no two fields the same. I wish I had my bike, the sun was becoming more and more unbearable as the day goes on. My fingers trace the bark of the small trees lining the side of the pavement. As I reach my arm out, the cut on my arm catches my eye. It's still red but I'm pretty sure it's healing. 

" _Est-ce Oliver_?" _Is it Oliver?_

My head snaps up to look at Marzia. " _Oliver_?" I ask. It feels nice to say his name. My voice breaks and I resist the urge to yell in frustration. " _Quoi_ _?"_   _What_? Marzia looks down at me, a faint trace of a smile on his face. “ _As-tu pensé à Oliver_?" she asks, shutting her book and slipping it under her arm. _Were you thinking about Oliver?_

 _"Non,"_ I say quickly, shaking my head. Maybe that was bit over the top. " _Non_."

" _D'accord_ ," she shrugs, still smiling. _Okay_. I frown.

" _Ne le dis pas comme ça_ ," I protest, shaking my head. _Don't say it like that_. The wall comes to a end and I offer Marzia a hand. She jumps down, holding my hand and grins brightly at me.

" _Comment_?" She asks, smirking, her eyes mischievous. " _Je ne l'ai pas dit comme quoi que ce soit." I didn't say it like anything._

" _Ouais, tu l'as dit comme tu ne me crois pas,_ " I reply, dropping her hand. _Yeah, you said it like you don't believe me_. I can see the villa approaching as we walk down the hill. Marzia arches an eyebrow at me and smirks. “ _J’ai pas_ ," she laughs.

I don’t say anything else until we reach the gate, my head spinning too quickly. I ask if Marzia wants to stay for lunch, but she shakes her head and says she has to go, but she’ll see me later. 

I lean against the wall as I watch her go, unsure of what to do with myself. I could go for a run, or go cycling - clear my head. No, I’ll just stay and read. I’m about to go inside and search for a book I haven’t read yet, when I see Oliver coming out of the house. He’s wearing his red swimming shorts, and my stomach twists when I see them on him. He’s not wearing anything else. 

My hands automatically run over my lips, the ones he kissed last night. I hadn’t seen him this morning; he hadn’t been at breakfast. I watch, chewing on my lower lip, as he walks past; his golden hair is tussled and messy, and when I see him run his hands through it I realise why.

I should just let him leave, and then find a book, like I planned, I tell myself as he nears me. But I can’t help myself. “Oliver,” I call, folding my arms as I lean against the wall. My heart is racing so fast I swear it’s going to smash out of my ribs. He turns and smiles when he sees me. “Elio,” He says, his blue eyes dancing.

He doesn’t tell me where he’s going. He just stands there, all his godliness staring at me. I don’t want to ask, but I really want to know. I push my tongue into my cheek before I say, trying my best to sound casual, “Where are you going?” praying that he doesn’t see through me.

“Swimming,” he shrugs, and my heart falls as he takes another step. Part of me is silently pleading him to ask me, the other part of me wants him to drown, just so he’d be out of my life. “You wanna come?” he asks, a small smirk on his face. My whole body tenses. I pretend to consider, running a hand through my hair and tapping my fingers against my leg.

“I told Liliana I’d go cycling with her.” I didn’t. I’m lying. He’s pushed me to lying. I watch his face carefully, not moving from my place against the wall; at how his eyebrows raise and his lips part slightly before he shrugs. “If you can’t come it’s not a big-” He’s not even disappointed. Maybe he really didn’t want to kiss me.

“Wait for me. I’ll go get changed,” I say as I push myself off of the wall. He smiles lightly, and I don’t think he know I saw it. “What about Liliana?” he asks. 

“I’ll tell Mafalda to tell her I’m sorry.” This time he doesn’t try to hide his smile. I run into the house, taking the stairs two at a time, my heart panting and my whole body longing.

 

-

 

“So you’re not applying to Juilliard?” Oliver asks again. For the tenth time. 

“No,” I shrug, watching as he ducks underwater for a moment before shooting back up.

"And you're also not applying for Berklee or Thornton.” My throat bobs when he mentions Thornton. Thornton is in California. Before Oliver had showed up, I’d actually been debating whether to apply to USC. It is in the top one percent, and I’m sure I could get in. But Oliver lived in California. And even being in the same state as him might be too much for me.

I’m not sure if he’s asking or stating, but I answer anyway. “Nope,” I say, pushing myself up out of the pool to sit on the side. 

“And you’re going to some school in England instead?” I roll my eyes and kick water at him.

“Cambridge University is not just some school,” I say, snorting. “It’s the best university in the UK.” Oliver narrows his eyes at me and cocks his head as he smiles a condescending smirk. He stands up straight in the water, his stomach dripping. Sometimes he makes me feel so young. The way he’s trying to argue with me, about _my_ university choices, makes me want to hit him. 

“Not for music.” He says it so causally, just throwing it out there. He’s judging me. And for some reason, I argue back. He’s judging me; and it’s making my skin feel like glass. My veins are shuddering and my heart is pounding.

“No,” I say, “but it is the third best. For music.” Our eyes lock and he stares at me. I stare back, tightening my fists as I lean back. He breaks contact, and falls back into the water. It sprays everywhere and I sigh. “So, you’re going to go to England, so you can attend the third best music school. Over there,” he says as he runs his hands through his wet hair.

I bite my lip and shrug lightly. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess,” he repeats, drawing out the syllables. 

“What have you got against England?” I ask, my brows lowered.

“What have you got against the US?” he fires back. I shake my head and push myself up. As I stand up, I look down at him and he looks up at me. I shoot him an icy glare and jump down from the pool ledge, grab my towel and start to walk towards the villa.

I hear Oliver climb out aswell and chase after me, I refuse to turn around and face him. “Elio!” I clench my jaw. “Elio!” He runs up in front of me and cuts me off. “Hey, Elio. I didn’t mean to...I’m sorry.”

I run my tongue over my teeth. "It's fine," I say, not looking at him. Can't he just _drop_ it? 

"No, it's not, I just-"

"It's _fine_ , Oliver," I say through gritted teeth. He opens his mouth, no doubt to argue some more, but I speed my pace up. He follows me right up till we reach the patio and he makes to continue following me but I turn and scowl. "What are you doing?" I ask, narrowing my eyes. 

"Nothing," he says, shrugging. I arch an eyebrow, he's got an innocent smile on his face. 

"Nothing," I repeat, frowning. He just shrugs and keeps smiling. "Can you please go do _nothing_ someplace else?"

"No," he states, shaking his head. "I can't," he breathes, leaning in closer. I gulp and resist the temptation to slam my lips against his. I can smell him; apricots, sweat and grass. I push my tongue into my cheek. He cocks his head down at me and a shiver runs down my body. " _Oliver_ ," I whisper.

"Elio," he smirks. My lips part and my whole body starts to ache. I should just kiss him. I should really just kiss him. Because maybe if I kiss him, and tell myself this is the last ever one, then I'll be able to fly to England without a missing part of my soul. I'm just going to kiss him.

Then he kisses me.

When he touches me, my whole body melts. His hands are in my hair and his lips are on mine and I can feel every part of him in me. I steady one hand against his bare chest, mostly just to keep myself from fainting when he wraps one arm around me, practically holding me up. His other hand rests below my ear, his thumb caressing my cheek as the kiss deepens. I run my fingers down his spine, pulling him closer until there's no space left between us and I can feel the beating of his heart against my chest. If I was to die right now, in his arms, I wouldn't even care. I've lived the best life I have, and when I die, the only person I ever want to be there, is Oliver. And if he died, I think my own life would stop aswell.

When I kiss Oliver my brain lights on fire and the warmth spreads throughout my entire body. I think I'm addicted to him, but I also think that he might be the death of me. I can't stand to be around him, because he makes me unsure of everything I believe to have ever known. These kisses are my salvation and my torment.

When we pull apart; I don't know if it's been seconds, hours or minutes. "You stopped," Oliver mumbles dreamily, his eyes shut. He's so close to me and our breaths are mingling. 

"We're in the middle of the patio," I whisper back, resting my forehead against his. 

"And?" He asks, brushing his knuckles down my jaw. 

"And my parents could see."

"I thought they knew," he objects. I take a step back and brush down my jeans. 

"Doesn't mean I want them to see me kissing _anybody_."

Oliver opens his eyes and nods, as if he's been pulled out of cold water. "And you have a girlfriend." I don't. Not really. I mean, me and Liliana haven't talked about it. Maybe she thinks we are. 

"You had a fiancee," I shoot back. His face becomes a cast of exasperation.

“Elio-”

“I know,” I sigh. “I know.” There's a moment of silence as we both watch each other. "What happens now?" I ask, biting my bottom lip. 

"What do you want to happen?"

I think about it. What do I want to happen? I never allowed myself to imagine a future with Oliver, because I didn't think it was possible. I still don't think it's possible, not really - I mean, I'm going to England, hopefully. Oliver'll go back to California. It will just be a repeat of last year; but even worse. Maybe I should not even try. Maybe I should just leave him alone. But I don't think I can survive another seven weeks with him, but not with him. 

"I can't live like we did last summer," I whisper. He doesn't answer. He just keeps looking at me. I take a step back and frown at him. "Do you even know what you want Oliver?"

He doesn't answer, just gulps. I shake my head. "Okay. That's great. That's all I needed to know. Thanks."

"No, wait, Elio-" But I'm already walking away from him and inside the villa. I hear him follow me inside and a growl slips from my mouth. "Elio, please."

I spin around to face him, my jaw clenched. "Leave me alone," I demand, my fists tightened. He shakes his head. "Please," I manage to get out, my voice cracking slightly. I must sound really pathetic because Oliver just nods, his face a cast of anguish and frustration. I know he's watching as I walk away so I walk quicker, taking the stairs two at a time. I barely make it to my room on time, before I fall onto my bed, knees clutched to my chest as tears run down my face.

 


End file.
